


My Baby Shot Me Down

by arioseDreamer



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Blues Dancing, Gen, Swing Dancing, Swing au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 15:23:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1946226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arioseDreamer/pseuds/arioseDreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you dance with someone, you can't help but fall a little bit in love with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Baby Shot Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> For best results, listen to [Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qgDrpWWxuto) by Nancy Sinatra while reading.   
> That is what they're dancing to, after all.
> 
>  
> 
> I love me some blues and anyone who has blues danced before will agree that it is a religious experience and you definitely fall a little bit in love with the friend or stranger you dance with.  
> As usual, find me on [tumblr](http://ariosedreamer.tumblr.com)

The songs are slowing down. You close your eyes as you lean idly against a wall. The beat is getting heavier, lower, resounding in your chest and throat. The dancers are getting slower and lower too. The night is growing old, and as the songs wane into blues territory many of your friends are choosing to head home or chat and rest their tired feet in the lounge. The dance floor is nearly empty, but you smile contently at the few couples swaying together, lowering their partners into dips as the song comes to a close.

You’re broken from your reverie by a tap to the shoulder. “Care for a dance?” The asker is a young man, freckled and tan, offering a hand and a smile to you with his request. You don’t even think before your smile widens and you take his hand and let him lead you out onto the floor as the rippling, electric bass chords of the next song fall from the speakers. You love Nancy Sinatra—of course, you’ll accept a dance to this song.

Your partner pulls you close for the first steps. You close your eyes and let him lead. It’s an unfamiliar but not unpleasant change of pace. He’s also a few inches taller than you, which works out favorably for you as a follow. You exhale and relax, feeling his movements and the rhythm synchronize and you’re moving along with them. You bend your head down, and you both are so close that you’re nearly resting it on his shoulder.

“I’m Marco,” he murmurs to you.

“Jean,” you reply.

Introductions are simple and soft when you blues. Marco spins you out and you put a sway into your narrow hips as he pulls you back in. You’re closer now. His head is just barely leaning against yours, and his hand is warm between your shoulder blades—a strong connection between you for the dance. Yours rests on his right shoulder, and he drops your right hand. You let it settle comfortably near your hip and let Marco’s hand and hips guide your movements. You inhale through your nose and you can smell his cologne and the faint musky scent of sweat and body heat. It’s nice.

Your bodies move together across the empty dance floor. The other dancers haven’t joined this song, but you don’t think much of it. Your awareness extends as far as Marco and the music, and nor very far beyond. Anything else is a fleeting thought, and besides, with fewer dancers, you and Marco have more room to traipse across the wooden boards. You match him step for step, breezing through every push, pull, and turn. Your shoes glide on the floor, led by his, but he’s so close your feet are mere centimeters from hopeless entanglement.

Marco’s hips swivel against yours when the chorus hits and you both halt your journey across the floor to pulse with the melody. Your body bends easily with him. Marco leads you into a dip before pulling you up again and releasing you into a spin. He catches your hand, bringing you to a full stop. You brush a hand back through your hair while both of you swing your hips and dip your knees.

Marco pulls you back in, draping your arm around his neck, and resting his left hand on your hip. You’re in love with the way he moves with you. He never misses a beat. You fit in easily against his chest, and breathe a silent sigh as you pulse together with him, up onto your toes with an inhale as the bridge peaks. He pauses, holds you, before pushing your hip to get you turn. Marco catches your hand and you're held against his hip, leaning slightly into his solid frame with his arm around your waist. You watch your feet travel together a few steps across the shiny floorboards before the final verse. Then he pulls you back around and you're within kissing distance, and his hand is back between your shoulders, reforming that strong connection for the last bars of the song. He rolls his hips and your body follows the motion slowly, sensually. 

Nancy slips into the last chorus, and you sink into the low notes with her voice, and you sink into Marco's hold and pulse and hips, and you sink into the dip following Marco's lead as the final arpeggios reverb into silence. You open your eyes while he holds you steady and his face is still so close to yours. You could count the freckles on his cheeks, but you've caught his eye and you're too concerned with the infinity of that warm chocolate iris to bother with numbers. 

Catcalls and clapping bring you both back to your surroundings. Marco hurries to straighten you, and you pretend that your face isn't turning as red as your shirt. Marco's doing a good job pretending the same. 

"Thanks for the dance," you say. 

Marco beams. "Thank  _you_ ," he says. "You're an amazing dancer, Jean. I'd love to dance with you again sometime."

You smile, and think you'll definitely take him up on that.


End file.
